


The Captain and the Tack Master

by orphan_account



Category: Glee, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: AU, Crossover, Dragon AU, Historical, Klaine, M/M, Sebklaine sort of, Seblaine sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-01
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-19 23:29:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/578814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Glee/Temeraire Crossover: Sebastian the dragon learns to share.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Captain and the Tack Master

**Author's Note:**

> If you have not read the phenomenal Temeraire series by Naomi Novik, here’s the deal: what if dragons existed in the world as we know it? Furthermore, what if dragons were intelligent and loyal and feisty and were used in warfare? 
> 
> The Temeraire series is set during the Napoleonic wars, but this story takes place in America during the events leading up to the War of 1812. America has its independence, and has rapidly grown its aerial corps to match the might of the British and secure that freedom. 
> 
> Dragons, if harnessed the moment they hatch, are loyal to one human (their captains) for the rest of their lives. Some breeds, such as the acid-spitting Longwings of England, will only allow themselves to be harnessed by women. Other breeds, such as the Sirène-Ngemwenen cross (French and Iroquois) of America, will only be harnessed by homosexuals. Especially valuable because of their ability to sing smaller breeds into a deep sleep, even mid-air, and because of their abnormally long and deadly talons, the American aerial corps have made special dispensations for openly gay men (“inverts”) in order to captain the Sirène-Ngemwenen breed.
> 
> Sebastian, hatched in the fledgling state of Ohio, is one of these dragons.
> 
> PS: my sincere apologies to incomparable Ms. Novik.

“This is a good opportunity for a nice sash. Or maybe some color on the lapel?” Sebastian suggests wisely to his Tack Master, squinting down at the garment in his hands.

Kurt, as adept with fabric as he is with harness leather, also serves as Blaine’s marching tailor. Blaine, fastidious by nature, but prone to ripping, staining, and losing his jacket all together, certainly needs one.

“Captain Anderson is an officer, not a dandy, Sebastian,” Kurt says primly, and smooths the torn jacket out on the trunk of the birch Sebastian had knocked over for him to work upon.

Around them the camp takes shape; tents going up in a neat row, cooking fires burning strong, and the runners fetching bucket after bucket of water from the lake. Further up the shore are the rest of their flying-mates, and even further on, an entire brigade of militia, their own camps twinkling like fireflies in the lowering light.

Despite his treat of a dozen rabbits, lightly spit-roasted with honey and pleasantly crunchy, Sebastian is still in a mood. _A rotten snit that does no good, as there is no helping the matter_ , Kurt calls it. He doesn’t like camping away from his flying-mates; it was not a hard day’s flight and there is sure to be singing, maybe even a game of hoops. But the President has ordered them to take the militia south, and Blaine says that the militia are not properly appreciative of invert captains. So, they are exiled to the dark end of the beach to keep their own company.

Sebastian resettles his wings. “Yes, he is an officer, and captain of a very valuable dragon. Do you not think that deserves some additional accoutrements?” Sebastian persists.

He spies Blaine busy inspecting the shooters and their rifles, and he had mentioned something about inventorying their munitions, and it doesn’t take much to persuade Kurt to dress up Blaine’s uniform when Blaine is distracted. While Blaine will take care to tie only the most fashionable French knots around his throat, he prefers to keep his uniform to regulation, and has had Kurt pick off extraneous braid in the past. He says he does not wish to attract more attention than he does, but Sebastian is of the mind that if Blaine already receives special treatment, should he not dress accordingly?

“Indeed, when the occasion arises, I’ll ensure that Captain Anderson’s dress uniform meets your standards of tastelessness. By and by, it’s better that he not be so easily identified.”

“Whyever not? Blaine is the best captain in the corps.”

Kurt nods over the rent he’s sewing. “True, true,” his voice becoming irritatingly gentle, almost condescending. Sebastian braces himself for a lecture to disregard. “But Sebastian...you know that in battle Blaine is a more desirable hostage target _because_ he is the captain?”

Sebastian sits up and growls, stomping so that the tree under Kurt rolls and Kurt goes diving for his pouch of needles and thread. Across the camp Blaine looks over in alarm, and then goes back to conferring with Lt. Wilde, a smile on his face. It is not uncommon that discussion becomes heated in the company of Sebastian and Kurt.

“I would never let Blaine be captured, _never_! No one may touch Blaine! He is _my_ captain!”

“Oh, compose yourself, you harpy! No one _wants_ Blaine to be captured,” Kurt says irritably, dusting off the knees of his breeches.

“And he shant! I will gut any British dog who tries!”

“Now, now, no need to boast. We’re all familiar with your passion, Sebastian.”

Obviously, Kurt is not grasping the gravity of the issue. “None the less!”

“And what would you have us do? Swaddle Captain Anderson and leave him on the ground during battle? Hmmm? It remains that he _is_ the captain, and he _will_ be a target for attack. The best we can do is protect him.” Kurt’s hands leave his hips and he rubs his fingers uneasily. “We need him too much. We will all endeavor to keep him safe.”

Sebastian approves of Kurt for many reasons: he keeps well a harness suitable for a dragon of Sebastian’s station. He may grumble about it, but he will buy Jamaican ginger root for Sebastian to chew from the markets. He can be persuaded to jump on the pads of Sebastian’s hands after battle to ease the soreness, sacrificing his dignity to hop and skip among Sebastian’s talons, almost as tall as Kurt himself. He can sing rather prettily. Not as well as Sebastian, of course, but not poorly. 

But what he likes most about Kurt is Kurt’s regard for Blaine. Not only does Kurt keep his wardrobe, and fusses over his dinner when Blaine is kept late at the barracks, but has killed four boarders to protect him, by Blaine’s count. Blaine says that Kurt is quite vicious when needs be, just like a certain dragon of his acquaintance. As though a man with a couple of pistols and a sword is any comparison to Sebastian, but even so. It is comforting to know that Blaine has a crew so loyal to his well-being. Which gives Sebastian a cunning idea. 

“No, it won’t do to leave him on the ground. What do you say to this: the _crew_ shall wear captains jackets.” Sebastian lowers his head to speak quietly. “To _deceive_ the English. They won’t know who the captain is.” 

Kurt taps his chin, straddling the log once more to resume his mending.

“A clever ruse,” he concedes. 

“I know,” Sebastian tells him.

“But then would Captain Anderson be singled out as the only man _not_ in a captain’s jacket?” He taps his chin again. “If only there was a compromise...”

“Kurt, use your wits. We’ll put all the _officers_ in the grey wool with silver buttons and then some of the crew will be decoys and some not, while still maintaining the hierarchy.” 

Kurt nods slowly. “That is a sound plan.”

“Make it so, Tack Master Hummel,” Sebastian commands.

Kurt’s face twitches, and he clears his throat three times before speaking again. Sebastian hopes he is not falling ill. 

“Perhaps we should consult Captain Anderson first,” he finally says. 

Sebastian hisses and nods to the torn jacket under Kurt’s hands. “Blaine’s safety is my purview, since he has so little regard for it himself.”

“On that we can agree. Very well. I foresee an issue though: we haven’t enough silver for all the coats.”

Sebastian thinks on it for a bit, smoothing the edge of one green wing. Blaine is more valuable to Sebastian than any precious metal. So if the cost of Blaine’s safety is silver, then it must be a wise investment.

“Very well,” Sebastian startles Kurt out of his squint over his needle. “You may take the silver out of my treasure.”

“Truly?” Kurt asks, with more surprise than the decision warrants.

“Truly. If it would help to keep Blaine safe, then all the officers may have silver buttons.”

Kurt raises his eyebrow. “Even your Tack Master?”

“You’re not an officer.”

“Perhaps, but I do fight topside,” Kurt reminds him.

Sebastian finds he is not keen on Kurt being taken hostage either. It puts him in a bit of a panic to think of Kurt’s harness straps cut, of him being bundled onto an enemy dragon. Blaine would likely be upset too.

He scratches the side of his nose with a talon, restless. Kurt in silver buttons means that he would be part of the decoy. But no buttons means he would be relatively unmolested and free to better protect Blaine.

“No,” Sebastian concludes. “No silver on your jacket. But you may have some for your violet waistcoat.”

“Truly?” Kurt asks again, higher this time.

“Close your mouth, Kurt, you look simple. Yes, truly,” Sebastian tells him magnanimously. “For I know _you’re_ a dandy.”

Kurt sniffs, but does not deny it. “Ai, ai, Sebastian. Silver buttons for all the officer’s coats, and a few for my waistcoat. My thanks.”

“Not too big, now. No need to blind the English with our chests.”

Kurt laughs, an unconscious, merry sound. “Indeed, very prudent. I’ll see that it’s done.”

*** 

That night Blaine takes his dinner upon Sebastian’s forearm, sharing with him the plan for evading British formations reportedly coming up from the south east. Sebastian tries to listen thoughtfully, but is too excited to share his own plan for better protecting Blaine in combat. 

Blaine makes him explain the details twice and is still shocked silent. Likely with awe.

“But Sebastian, it doesn’t..,” he starts to say. 

“Doesn’t what?” Sebastian asks anxiously.

Blaine looks up at him with his topaz eyes dancing familiarly.

“Oh,” Sebastian sighs. “You think it’s foolish.”

“Not at all, my love!” Blaine is quick to correct him. He pets the curve of Sebastian’s wrist soothingly. “As smart as you are beautiful, I see.”

“Well, yes.” 

“And so modest! I am blessed,” Blaine smiles up at him, genuine now. “But, my love...”

“What is it? Do you see a flaw?” 

“Only that it is very generous of you. Buttons for six men, and from your own treasure. Are you quite sure?”

“I’ve already asked Kurt to see that it’s done.” 

“Ah,” Blaine says, and suggests they sing a song before Blaine retires to his tent. It’s almost better than singing with his flying-mates, as Rachel is prone to drowning out the rest of the formation with her yowling. They sing _The Vicar of Bray_ twice and Sebastian feels a glow of pride. Not only is his captain handsome and accomplished, but he sings like Sebastian imagines an angel would.

But after Blaine bids him good night, and the camp quiets down, all the crew finding their bedrolls, Sebastian finds it difficult to sleep. He can’t help but dwell on the price of his plan, the silver from his hard-fought-for treasure. Sebastian knows every coin, chain and jewel within his chest at the barracks in Fort Laurens. He wonders how much bullion it will cost him. Twelve buttons on six coats...how many bars will depend on how large the buttons are.

He tries laying on his back, but the night is a bit chill, and without the warm mounds of his flying-mates to leach a bit of heat from, it does not lull him into sleep. There is no use for it, he must settle on how much silver he’s investing before he can rest. He considers going to ask Kurt, but now that Kurt has a stake in the outcome, he’ll likely exaggerate the price.

Blaine will be truthful. And Blaine never minds when Sebastian nudges the flap of his tent open with a talon, will always wake with a sympathetic smile and ask, _What troubles you, my love?_

So he crosses the clearing marked out for his resting place, quiet, so as to not wake the rest of the crew. Puckerman is on the south watch, and tips his hat at Sebastian when he slinks by. Blaine’s tent is set apart from the rest, close to the tiny creek that feeds into the lake. There is no lamp lighting the inside, but Sebastian crouches low anyways, pulling the tent flap open and peeking in with his left eye.

What he sees takes a long moment to solve in his head. Someone, no, _Kurt_ , is _sitting_ on top of Blaine, his long naked legs folded beside Blaine’s hips. Blaine too is mostly naked, his breeches pushed down and his loose shirt rucked up under his arms.

Both of them have their eyes closed and Blaine is making little noises, grunts, like he’s being struck repeatedly. One hand clutches at Kurt’s shirt, open at the neck, and falling off of Kurt’s shoulder. Blaine’s other hand grips Kurt’s thigh, hard, like maybe Kurt is hurting him and Blaine is trying to push him off, but cannot? 

Sebastian keens, and rips the flimsy tent and then roars, “Blaine!” ready to swipe Kurt off Blaine with a talon.

Shouts from within the collapsed fabric, and Sebastian panics, realizing his mistake. Now Blaine may be trapped, crushed- “Blaine! Blaine!” he cries, and there, the flash of a dagger ripping a long line through the canvas of the tent and Kurt’s tousled head pops out, red-faced and stricken. 

“Stop! Sebastian! Be calm!”

“Blaine! Blaine! What have you done to him?” 

But now, Blaine is pushing his shoulders through the rip too, climbing over the wreck of the tent, saying, “No, Sebastian, it’s quite alright! Look, I am fine! Do not rouse the whole camp!”

Too late; half the crew have come running, pistols and swords in hand, Puckerman with his watch torch.

“Oh God have mercy,” Kurt moans into his hand, and looks around at the wreck of the tent, as though to climb back into it. 

“But are you alright, Blaine?” Sebastian demands, irritated that Blaine seems to be shielding Kurt from him, has already forgiven Kurt’s mischief.

“I’m very well. Please, my love, go back to your clearing and I will attend you presently.”

Sebastian growls and settles into his haunches, tail twitching, watching Kurt closely. In the case of Blaine’s safety, his own is the only judgement Sebastian trusts.

“Do you need our assistance, Captain?” Lt. Wilde asks, as though this is a laughing matter.

“Everyone back to camp, if you please. There has been a misunderstanding,” Blaine orders loudly. The crew all eventually turn back, a disrespectful titter of laughter or two echoing across the creek.

“There is no misunderstanding! I saw it! Kurt was hurting you!” Sebastian argues.

Kurt makes a choking sound, like an aborted laugh. Sebastian growls.

“He was _not_ hurting me, Sebastian. Kurt would never hurt me, as you well know.”

“I know what I saw!”

“Please, my love, keep your voice calm.”

“Very well,” Sebastian hisses. “Then what was he doing? You were crying out!”

“Oh, I know you are not so innocent as this,” Kurt interrupts. “You silly beast, we were in the midst of an amorous congress!”

Sebastian cocks his head. “In the midst of a what?”

Kurt opens his mouth to spill more nonsense, but Blaine touches his arm gently and he is silenced.

“We were, ah, making an egg, Sebastian,” Blaine explains. His face is just as flushed as Kurt’s. 

“But you said inverts cannot make eggs!”

“No, my love, we can’t. But...the act itself...that is to say...the attempt...” Blaine says lamely, pumping his fists together to demonstrate...something.

“Perhaps you’re all doing it wrong. That is not how I went about making an egg with Santana.”

Kurt drops his head to the back of Blaine’s shoulder. Blaine awkwardly pats the top of it before saying, “Oh no, we don’t want to actually produce an egg.” He sighs, raking his curls. “You see, when two men love each other, and they want to show that love, sometimes they will pretend to make an egg. Because it feels, ah, well. Because it feels nice.”

“When two men love each other? But, but, you love _me_. I am the one you love! You say so all the time!”

“Oh, and I do, my love! I do!” Blaine trips forward over the remains of his tent and uniform chest, hands up. Sebastian dutifully drops his head lower so that Blaine can pet his nose. Blaine presses his cheek right to it, stroking Sebastian’s scales. It soothes him, to have Blaine so close, to have all of Blaine’s attention upon him. And when Sebastian closes his eyes, he doesn’t see Kurt there, watching them blank-faced, in just his shirt, dagger still in his hand.

“Truly, there is no beast I love more than you. None other comes close,” Blaine whispers. He kisses Sebastian’s nose and looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “But Sebastian, just the same, there is no man I love more than Kurt.”

“You cannot! You’re _my_ captain,” Sebastian insists, trying to make Blaine see. See that Blaine does not need to parcel his love, that Sebastian is entitled to it all.

But Blaine is stepping away, a hand still on Sebastian’s nose, reaching back to Kurt. Kurt steps up beside Blaine like it’s the most natural thing. Sebastian whines, but Blaine just pats his snout.

“Now, now. I know you are very fond of Kurt as well.” 

“I’m not so sure of that!” Sebastian snorts, raising his head. He sees now that Kurt is holding Blaine’s hand, their tiny fingers intertwined tightly. Sebastian’s own forehands clench, talons digging into the ground, the sharp snap-snap-snap of uprooted sod.

“Please, my love, do not be vexed. Nothing will ever change my regard for you,” Blaine says. But there he stands, clutching another, and how can Sebastian be sure? 

Sebastian swings his head; he feels queer, like he’s eaten spoiled meat. Blaine, _Blaine_. Blaine is _his_ , and Sebastian loves no man like he does Blaine. Blaine is brave and admirable and so lovely to look upon, like a perfect sculpture of a man magicked to life. When Sebastian sings, he sings only for Blaine. When Sebastian flies, he flies to hear Blaine’s joyful laughter. When Sebastian fights, he fights for Blaine’s heartbeat, for his hands on Sebastian’s neck, for his sweet murmur of _you did very well, my love._

But Blaine is retreating, becoming smaller and smaller in the starlight, his face white and wretched and Sebastian realises he has taken flight without thought. A whine wings out of his throat again, like it must escape, and it sounds sad, sad like the songs he sings to make other dragons sleep.

He soars back to his clearing; he does not want to see Blaine there beside Kurt anymore, but he cannot leave. There are still much worse things to image, like Blaine being hurt or captured because Sebastian was not there to protect him. The worry keeps him tethered like a child’s kite, the end of the string held by Blaine. 

He lands with little grace, a crashing thump that sends a flock of roosting birds squawking from the trees around the clearing. Sebastian does not care. No one is there to judge his composure. Certainly not Blaine, who is probably right back to making another egg as Sebastian curls himself tight, tight, tail over his nose, wing over his eyes.

The sound of running steps makes him flinch, and though he doesn’t want to, he peeks up over his wing. It may be Lt. Wilde with orders, or young Puckerman, perhaps come to report that Blaine has collapsed from regret, Kurt run away, and Sebastian should come back to camp.

But no, it’s Blaine, still disheveled in his fluttering shirt, and he is ducking under Sebastian’s wing and hauling himself up onto Sebastian’s trembling forearm, and there, moonlight shine of tears on his cheeks. 

“No, no, my love, my beauty,” he whispers, stroking Sebastian’s jaw, shushing his whines.

He has come alone, it’s just them, the dragon and his captain, and Sebastian asks, unsure, “Will you stay? Please?”

“Yes, of course, if you will have me,” Blaine says immediately, and lets Sebastian nudge him down into the safe hollow he makes with his forearms, Sebastian’s wing more protective than any tent.

Sebastian cannot help but ask, he must shake and settle the ache in his chest. “Who is it that you love?”

“You, my love,” Blaine tells him, his voice unsteady with emotion.

“Only me?” Sebastian confirms. For even though Sebastian cannot give Blaine an egg, here Blaine is, in _his_ arms.

Blaine is silent, then he whispers, “I will not insult you by trying to deceive. I have enough feeling for you _and_ for Kurt. You must understand, Sebastian, you must understand that I could never love you any less because of it. Perhaps you too...”

“Perhaps I too what?” Sebastian asks mulishly. 

“...I...never mind, my love. Just, let us go to sleep. We take point tomorrow and it will be a long day.”

Sebastian looks down into the shadow of his arms, at Blaine neatly curled, set like a gem against Sebastian’s chest. He puts his head upon one arm and sleeps, eventually.

***

“Look sharp, Lynn. Get that buckle secured or the whole rig is sliding off and _you’re_ explaining to Captain Anderson why we’ve held up the entire brigade,” Kurt orders in his shrill voice.

Sebastian is tempted to look and judge for himself just how lackadaisical Midwingman Lynn is being, but he has been ignoring Kurt all morning and he’s not going to quit now.

Kurt, to his irritating credit, appears not to notice, rounding Sebastian, observing carefully as the crew puts him into harness, just as he does every day. Usually though, Kurt will make a sly joke or two at Sebastian’s expense, tease him that his middle is becoming too round, or that his spots are multiplying. Blaine says that the golden spots on Sebastian’s green scales are beautiful, like a map of the constellations. Kurt says it looks as though someone flicked a loaded paintbrush at him.

Sebastian peeks out of the corner of his eye at Kurt, standing patient and quiet with his hands behind his back, and comes to the realization that Kurt may be ignoring _him_. Which just won’t do.

“Tack Master Hummel,” he calls.

Kurt’s jaw clenches, but he looks up, up, up, where Sebastian towers over him.

“What is it, Sebastian?” he says, clipped.

“I feel a pinch.”

“A pinch,” Kurt repeats. 

“Yes, a pinch. Behind my left port strap. Please investigate.” 

Kurt glares up at him for a beat, as though he knows it’s a deception. Then he dutifully marches around, hauling himself up the strap and bracing his feet, giving it a half-hearted tug where it wraps over Sebastian’s left hip. The strap, wider than Kurt is himself, hardly moves. 

“Still pinching?” Kurt asks impatiently. 

“Yes,” Sebastian lies.

Kurt braces himself again and hauls harder on the strap. It shifts less than a foot.

“Now?” he grunts.

“You’re making it worse.”

“ _Sebastian._ ” 

“ _Hummel_.”

Kurt makes a disgusted sound and sits down, apparently so he can throw his hands up in a prissy gesture. “That is _quite_ enough. We could dance this demented waltz all morning. Would you be so kind as to just have it out already so we can get off the ground?”

“There is nothing to be said.”

“Oh, no? Do you call this romantic brooding I suppose? Because it’s being presented more as a hatchling pout.” 

Sebastian’s wings twitch with irritation, sending up a chorus of “Oi!”’s from the crew on his shoulders.

“I do not pout!” he hisses, and snorts so hard that it ruffles Kurt’s hair. Kurt, unfortunately, is not intimidated by Sebastian’s might, and continues to glare impressively. Perhaps because Kurt was there when Sebastian hatched, petted him and fed him chunks of warm liver when Sebastian could still ride on Blaine’s shoulders.

“Sebastian...,” Kurt crawls to his feet and peeks down, over Sebastian’s side, where the crew are starting to load the camp into his belly-rigging. Seeing that Kurt is occupied, Lt. Evans has taken over supervising the process. Satisfied any idle ears are occupied, he continues in a low voice. “...you may think that this is some kind of competition for Captain Anderson’s affections, however-”

“It is _not_ ,” Sebastian finishes for him. Because Blaine may think he loves this pretty little man, but Kurt cannot fly, or sleep-sing, or win Blaine bounty. Blaine is a captain, _his_ captain, and as such, deserves a love equal to his station. A love like Sebastian.

“Precisely,” Kurt says. 

“What?” Sebastian growls.

“It is not a competition, for you have already won.”

“I have?” Sebastian says, sensing mischief. “But Blaine says that he loves you as well!”

Kurt waves his hands. “Oh, do keep your voice down, goat breath!” he snipes. “You’ll get me hanged, and for nothing better than your petty, useless jealousy!”

Sebastian huffs again. “I am not jealous of a man the size of my breakfast.” 

“Indeed, you have no need to be. This is what I am trying to say. Captain Anderson, _Blaine_ , will always be most loyal to _you_ , Sebastian. You must see that he loves you above all else, don’t you?”

“He does?” Sebastian asks, unsure. That is as it should be, but...

“Name me a day you have not flown with him since you first spread your wings.”

Sebastian cannot.

“Name me a evening he has not kissed you goodnight.”

Sebastian cannot again. He puts his head down on his own back. He lets Kurt run a hand over his nose; aside from Blaine, Kurt is the best at scratching the right places on the bridge of it.

“Name me an opportunity he has not taken to tell you how beautiful you are,” Kurt says softly, his eyes sad.

Blaine tells him so everyday, despite his spots.

“Just last night, who did he run to right away, who did he stay with all night?” 

“Me,” Sebastian admits in a small voice. Then he brightens. “Did you have to repair his tent?”

Kurt rolls his eyes to the early morning sky. “Of course I did. You got solace, and I got left to tidy _your_ mess. If that is not the best proof of who Blaine truly loves, then I challenge you to find better.”

Sebastian chuckles, then whines when Kurt stops stritching his nose in retaliation. Kurt resumes almost immediately, with only a little tisk.

“You see, you are the sun to Blaine’s planet. He revolves around you.” 

“An apt metaphor,” Sebastian admits, imagining it with delight. 

Kurt ducks his head, watching his own hand. “So, perhaps, knowing that, you could be so generous as to share him a little with others who admire him as well.”

“Kurt, I am not going to loan him out like a, a _stud_ , to make eggs with whomever finds him handsome.”

“No, you silly flying toad! That is not what I-” Kurt chokes, going red in his cheeks. “I meant me! Share him with me!” 

“Ah,” Sebastian says. He thinks about it for a moment. He supposes he is in a position to be generous. “How many undertakings is it going to be exactly, before you’re carrying?” 

Kurt just looks at him, his mouth opening and closing like an angry simpleton. 

“Two?” Sebastian suggests. He’s willing to negotiate. There is a giggle from below, but when Sebastian looks down, Lt. Evans is closed-mouthed and steady-eyed on the bomb loading.

“As many as it may!” Kurt growls. Honestly, Sebastian doesn’t know where Blaine finds the patience.

“Very well,” Sebastian concedes. He’ll speak to Blaine about the numbers, obviously Kurt is going to put up a fuss and claim it to be higher than it needs be. “However, only where I can see you.”

Yes, that is definitely Evans laughing. Sebastian will also need to speak to Blaine about his decorum while on duty.

“Oh, ho, ho!” Kurt says, pushing at Sebastian’s nose. They are tying up the covers underneath him, and there is Blaine, finished his breakfast with the other captains and coming to do the pre-flight inspection. “I will let you propose that stipulation to Captain Anderson. Best of luck. Come, give me a hand down.”

Kurt nimbly hops across the rigging to Sebastian’s shoulder, and Sebastian lowers him to the ground with his forehand. He can hardly tell there is a weight in his hand, Kurt is so lithe, but he is careful none the less. 

“Does all lie well, Tack Master Hummel?” Blaine asks, pulling on his gloves. Usually Blaine will ask that of Sebastian, have Sebastian stand and beat his wings to make sure the harness is secure. Perhaps he is trying to make up to Kurt. 

Kurt puts his hands behind his back and looks up at Sebastian while he answers.

“Yes, Captain. All lies well.”


End file.
